In this snippet, Rachel and James are both working in the yards, drafting the lambs from the ewes, for weaning. Too busy ogling James muscular body framed by his singlet to concentrate, Rachel jams her wrist in the chute:

James leapt over the railings in the
yards and was by her side in an instant, picking up her wrist and examining it
gently. “It needs ice,” he told her. “It’s starting to swell. Go home and put
some ice on it, I’ll be up for smoko soon.”

“Nah I’ll be okay, it’s not too bad.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Rachel. Go
home and get some ice.”

“I said I’m fine,” Rachel snarled at
him through gritted teeth, wrestling out of his grasp and doing her best to get
back to work pushing the sheep up through the chutes. It was agony, but Rachel
was stubborn, and she ignored James’ glare as she bent back to work.

Smack! James slapped her butt hard, and she
jumped. “Go home and tend to your wrist before I make your butt hurt as much as
your wrist does,” he ordered sternly.